Slow Pacing

The deal was simple – have one dinner with the notorious crime lord, Declan Shaughnessy, and my dad’s gambling debts would be canceled. But I knew I was in deep trouble when he met me at the door looking fine as hell with those piercing blue eyes and a mouthwatering body built for sin. Over dinner, I could barely breathe when his hand grazed mine, and that wolfish grin set me quivering down below. An innocent slow dance quickly turned into a down-and-dirty horizontal mambo on his couch. Now I’ve become his burning obsession, and I’m trapped by the new debts my father owes the mafia. When that devilish grin spreads across Declan’s handsome face, I know that he'll never set me free-- especially now that I’m carrying his baby. ******** This steamy romantic suspense story is a standalone novel in the Wicked Billionaires Club series. Enjoy!

Do I need to cut off someone’s limbs, little flame?” he growled into my ear. I tilted my head instinctively “He’s nothing you need to worry about,” I whispered. “I’m not worried, baby. I’m annoyed.” His growled. But I barely processed his words. “You called me baby,” I said, stunned. “And?” “I didn’t think wolves used such... terms of endearment.” He chuckled darkly. “We use whatever we want, ‘baby.’ Those words aren’t reserved for other species.” He kissed the side of my neck, slow and possessive. My lips parted in shock and hunger. Hunger for him. For more of his words that seemed to touch not just my heart, but the deepest, most vulnerable parts of me. “You’re in an awfully good mood,” I whispered, biting my lip to stop a moan. “I deserve it. I’ve been in a terrible mood since I left you in that hallway three nights ago. I can’t wait to be done with this damn party so I can kiss you properly.” His voice was thick with want. I felt weightless and boneless. Every nerve in my body tuned to him. He was too much. “Are you finally free?” I asked, my voice shaky from how turned on I was. “I’m not, little flame,” he said, biting my ear and licking the same spot after. “But for tonight? You have me all to yourself.” “Sounds exciting,” I breathed. “It is. Are you wet yet?” he whispered, voice like molten sin. “I am. Very.” “Good,” he murmured. “Stay like that all night. It will get worse but you’ll think of me while we mingle. And then, when this party is over, when you can’t take the ache anymore, I’ll let you come.”

Arranged marriage, age-gap, forbidden love, enemies-to-lovers, forced proximity, Romeo and Juliet vibes, family saga, Mafia/cartel romance, slow burn, redemption, morally gray hero, dangerous romance The Roríguez cartel is spinning out of control, tragedy putting the alliance and our future in question. I’m Emiliano Ruiz and throughout the last few years, I’ve witnessed my sisters being doled out to members of the Luciano Mafia. The cartel has also taken famiglia women. It doesn’t matter if it’s the Luciano famiglia’s turn to take a bride. My mind is set—it’s my turn. I never imagined marrying a young bride until I caught sight of Isabella Luciano. She’s only eighteen, and with her long yellow hair and big brown eyes, she’s a vision to behold. She sees me, however, through the tinted lens of her father’s hatred. Carmine Luciano’s disdain of the cartel and the alliance isn’t a secret. His opinion won’t stop me. I’ll prove to Isabella that even bad men can be good husbands. No matter what her father says or what happens in our war, Isabella will be mine. Have you been Aleatha’d?

He leaned in, inhaling her sweet scent as his hands traveled from her back to her waist, and then down to her thigh. She felt her breath hitch as she let out a small gasp. "We shouldn't be doing this." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then tell me to stop." His voice was low, daring, as his fingers traced slow circles on her skin. *** Lucy had always lived life on her own terms, until the night everything changed. One moment, she was free; the next, she was bound to Barry Cooper, a cold, dangerous man who ruled the underworld with an iron fist. She never expected to be trapped in a world of power struggles, deceit, and unspoken desires. But as the lines between captor and captive blur, Lucy realizes she’s caught in a deadly game, one where trust is a luxury and survival is not guaranteed. Will she escape the ruthless mobster who owns her… or will she become his greatest obsession?

In Black Salt, love is a sickness you can’t hide—a slow gnawing beneath the skin that leaves you hollowed, grayed, and eventually gone. No one stays long enough to see it through; they leave before the rot finishes its work. It’s what the town teaches you: when it starts, you run. You look away. You survive by pretending not to feel. But Atlas is tired of pretending. The halls of Black Salt High are full of kids pretending they don’t see each other’s bruised hearts, pretending their bones aren’t already whispering warnings. Still, he can’t forget the weight of a father who stayed—not out of love, but because he never felt it deep enough to decay. That truth lingers in Atlas like a second shadow. And then there’s Nova—the outsider with a storm in her bones. And Wren, all sharpness and fight. Milo, who cracks jokes to keep the silence at bay. Luce, who wears her thorns like jewelry. Together, they don’t know how to stop the rot. But they’re learning how to sit with it, how to name it, how to refuse the small, hollow deaths of pretending not to care. In a town where love is a death sentence, staying might be the bravest thing of all.

“Please Sir, don't divorce me. I will do whatever you want, but not a divorce.” Carolyn pleaded desperately with the man that everything about him was screaming danger.  She was taken aback by the coldness the man was exuding when he turned to face her. His eyes held so much darkness that she flinched. All her senses awoke blaring alarm bells in her head to get away, but to where? She had been walking helplessly in the street after she discovered her aunt's cruel intentions towards her on her wedding day. Until that young man mistook her as the bride of this man and brought her to the altar to marry this man who is scaring the living daylights out of her. He took a slow stride to her, held her chin with his index finger making her eyes meet his, and said. “Little bunny, you did not only trick my assistant into believing you're my bride, but you're also asking for a favor?“ “I'd like to sound a note of warning. Being my wife means you're ready to stay in my hell. You seem too fragile to be in my abyss, you might die, and there's no going back once you're in. Are you still willing?". He asked. “Yes, I am willing. In exchange, you'll have to protect me from my aunt and her goons.” She boldly declared. The man squirted his eyes at the little bunny in front of him for whatever reason, she was the most audacious woman he had ever come across and a devilish smile curled up his lips and said. “STRIP AND PLEASURE YOURSELF WIFEY.” And Carolyn's jaws dropped. Did she make the right decision by entering into a deal with the devil?  Will she regret her actions? READ TO FIND OUT. 

“You look perfect like this,” one whispered, fingers down my thigh. “I wondered if you really killed her, did you?” Cuffed, wrists above my head, legs bare and open, one ran a flogger over my belly. I arched back, gasping. Another leaned in, breath hot at my neck. The third stood at the edge of the bed, watching me squirm. “We don’t even need to touch you to make you beg.” Then he finally did, he slipped two fingers straight between my legs, slow and deep. “Oh my god,” I moaned, hips bucking. “You’re this wet already?” he growled, curling his fingers inside me. “And we haven’t even started fucking you yet.” The one at my neck licked a trail down to my collarbone. “You killed her. Admit it.” I shook my head, but my body gave me away. My legs were shaking. I was clenching around his fingers like I’d never been touched before. "I didn't do it." I moaned again “Say whose hole this is,” he demanded. “M-mine—” The flogger struck my thigh. “Try again." I looked up, breathless. “Yours. Fuck. It’s yours.” ******** Chloe was sent to Nightshade Academy, the same elite school where her sister allegedly took her own life. To earn her father’s approval and uncover the truth, she had no choice but to go. Now, after another student is found dead, Chloe was the prime suspect due to the circumstances surrounding the death. Tied by an unbreakable bond to the three Alpha triplets sent to catch the killer. Now, Chloe is caught in their dangerous web. Worse? She’s mated to all three who are determined to make her accept to the crime.

His other hand returned to my cl*t, rubbing slow, torturing circles that had my thighs shaking. “Please—” I begged, beyond pride now. “Please what?” He lifted his head, lips swollen from my skin. “Use your words, Cindy.” I hated him. Hated how he made me say it. “Fuck me, Damian. Pleassss……” **** After sacrificing her legs and her freedom to save a stranger, Cindy Hart becomes the crippled wife of a man who only loved her out of guilt. When he brings his ex into their home and throws Cindy aside, she decides she is done being the victim. With her billionaire identity hidden and her brother’s dangerously hot best friend pretending to be her lover, Cindy begins her revenge. But when the lines between fake and real blur with the playboy she once rejected, Cindy finds herself fighting not just for power but for a love she never saw coming.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

Nicole Evans never asked to be followed. She never asked for eyes in the dark, for a man like Vane to orbit her life with silence and devotion sharp enough to wound. But obsession doesn’t ask permission. It waits. It watches. It becomes inevitable. What began with missing men and shadows on rooftops soon unraveled into something far more intimate—an assassin who couldn’t let go, and a woman who, piece by piece, stopped trying to make him. As friends vanished and her world narrowed, Nicole found herself drawn toward the very thing she feared most—not out of love, but recognition. In his violence, there was something terrifyingly tender. In his silence, something that listened more closely than anyone else ever had. Theirs is not a love story in any ordinary sense. It’s a descent—a long, slow collapse into dependency, into surrender. A story told in bruises and shared tea, in blood and in stillness. A quiet unraveling that doesn’t end in escape, but in a house by the sea, where memory lingers and echoes never fade. Some stories don’t ask to be understood. Only remembered.